


This Is It

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Dark John, Derogatory Language, Drugged Sam, Drugged Sex, Drunk John Winchester, Gags, Gang Rape, Heavy Angst, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Physical Abuse, Protective Dean Winchester, Underage Rape/Non-con, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is drunk. Sam is there.</p><p>Just like so many times before.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is It

Sam was only fifteen, but he was starting to fill out. He didn't have as many muscles as his brother, but what he lacked in strength he made up for in skillSam was the best researcher; he could remember what it took to kill every creature and remembered all the incantations for different rituals they needed for their job. John was the best shot of the three of them, and Dean was the best fighter, but neither of them could do what they did without Sam.

As it was, they had just finished a hunt. Well, Sam and John had; Bobby had asked for some assistance a few days ago and John had sent Dean along, which left Sam and his father to take down a small group of vampires.

They'd done it with barely any problem; Sam had tracked the vampires no sweat and John had taken them there, barking orders the whole time. It was still light out so the vamps couldn't run away without pain, and soon enough the four fangs were dead and being burned to leave no evidence.

They'd just returned to their motel room. The plan was to leave in the morning and drive up to Bobby's to grab Dean. This meant that it was just the two of them for the night.

Sam hated being alone with John when the man was drunk. During the day, John was quick and efficient, focusing solely on the hunt and barely even glancing at Sam let alone speaking to him past what was strictly necessary for the hunt. But at night, as soon as John'd had a few gulps of alcohol in him and it was just the two of them, the man got very... _handsy._

Tonight, Sam wasn't going to wait until John's drunk ass noticed Sam and decided to take him to bed again. He got dressed in clothes that didn't have blood on them, grabbed the Impala's car keysplanning to go down to the bar and hustle some pool until he thought John had passed out for goodand headed out into the main area of the motel room they'd rented.

John was sprawled out on the couch, a half-finished _(already?)_ bottle of Jack Daniels clasped loosely in his hand. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even, so Sam prayed that the man was already passed out and would stay that way.

As silently as he could manage, Sam crept towards the door. He had to pass pretty close to the couch to get to the door, but he wasn't worried; John looked like he was really out. However, just as he was about to get past his father, a large hand reached out and clasped around his wrist, yanking him backwards. Sam stumbled and was unable to regain his footing, which meant he fell and crashed down next to John on the couch.

Before Sam could rush to his feet, John wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his side. Sam winced as John's breath hit him, thick and smelling like alcohol. John pulled Sam even closer so that Sam was almost on his lap, and his face was pressing into the side of Sam's neck. Sam had the advantage of being sober on his side, but even drunk, John Winchester was a lot stronger.

With the hand that wasn't wrapped tightly around Sam, John reached down and palmed himself through his jeans, sucking sloppy kisses all over Sam's neck. Once more, Sam tried to pull away, but John's grip tightened even more and then he rolled, only stopping moving when he was laying on top of Sam.

Sam coughed as John's breath hit him full force, and felt familiar fear explode in his chest. He was pinned now, all of John's weight pressing heavily against his smaller body. There was no escape, just like so many times before.

John continued to suck on Sam's neck, slobbering all over him, and his hips had begun to move. He was rutting against Sam, moaning loudly like only a drunk person could, and one of his hands was fumbling with his belt buckle and zipper. When he accomplished that he tried to remove his pants but failed, currently lacking the coordination necessary for that.

The drunk man mumbled something in a sharp tone, but Sam couldn't make out what he said. Suddenly a large fist slammed against his face with surprising strength, leaving Sam seeing stars. John mumbled again, and this time Sam could make out what he said; "Pull 'um down, boy..."

Not wanting to be hit again, Sam complied; he pushed John's pants and underwear down as far as he could reach, which was around his knees, and John was then able to wiggle them the rest of the way off. His giant hands went to Sam's own belt, but when he failed to undo it he grunted Sam's name and Sam did as he was instructed, undoing his belt and zipper.

John yanked Sam's pants and underwear down to his knees, not bothering to do it farther than that, and then pushed Sam's shirt off. When it was above his head and wrapped around his arms, John left it there, leaving Sam in a position where his arms were basically tied together and trapped above his head.

John began to rut against Sam again, this time a lot more forcefully, and reached underneath them both to grope Sam's ass. A thick, dry finger pushed into Sam's hole and Sam winced in discomfort. John simply wiggled his finger around for a bit, a drunk man's stretching, and then removed it. Before Sam knew it, John was lining up and then he shoved in roughly, going all the way in in one thrust without waiting for time to adjust.

Sam grunted in pain and John moaned in pleasure. The older man barely even waited a second before he began to move. His thrust were deep and hard, painful to Sam in every second. John, just like in the many other times this had happened, was oblivious to Sam's discomfort and lost in his own lust and pleasure.

Sam stared up at the ceiling, tears prickling in his eyes as he waited for this to be over. Usually, when John finished, he would roll away and fall into a deep sleep. The next morning he would wake up with a wicked hangover but he would do his job and they wouldn't talk about what happened. The next time they were alone it would happen again. A never-ending cycle.

Eventually, John's thrusts became more erratic and shallow, his breathing more labored, and then he thrust deeply one last time and came inside of Sam. The heavy man moaned and shuddered through his release, biting down hard on Sam's neck, then collapsed against Sam as he caught his breath. Sam waited for the man to calm himself and roll away so that Sam could go take an incredibly hot shower and then get out of there, but John wasn't moving. And then John started snoring.

Sam froze. John had just fallen asleep on top of him, his dick still balls-deep inside of Sam, his weight pressed heavily on top of him. Sam's hands and upper-arms were still tangled in his shirt and his lower legs were still caught together with his pants. All of this contributed to the fact that Sam had no leverage to escape.

Tears began to fall from his eyes. He had his father's penis inside of him, his father's cum slicking him up, his father's half-naked body trapping him against the motel room couch. Sam had never wanted this; it had started years ago when Sam was smaller and Dean was away at a Boy's Home, and hadn't stopped. John was smart enough not to do it when Dean was around, but other than that he didn't care about anything else.

He'd beaten Sam with his fists, strangled him, whipped him with his belt, degraded him with his words, and had sex with him in a thousand different fashions. He had tied Sam up, blindfolded him, gagged him, and stuck vibrators in him. Nothing was out of the question for John Winchester's messed up mind. All because of one little secret...

Like every other time this had happened, Sam had a brief thought of telling Dean. His older brother, who had looked out for Sam his whole life. Dean had promised to always look out for him, protecting him against anyone who would do him harm. Knowing Dean, that would include John. All Sam had to do was tell Dean, and they could leave. He could be free of this.

But like every other time he'd had this thought, he knew he wouldn't do it. Dean didn't deserve to be pulled into this dysfunctional situation. Plus, Sam could handle it. It was just sex, after all. He could handle it. It was just sex.

It was just sex.

Maybe half an hour later, John stirred above him. Sam felt a thrill of relief, thinking that John would pull out and away, maybe even stumble over to one of the beds and then pass out for the rest of the night.

Sam ended up being half right. John did pull out of him, after blinking awake blearily, but he didn't get off of Sam. Instead, he moved up a bit, shifting his weight so that it wasn't pinning Sam down anymore, but before Sam could move away, John's hands were firm on his hips and flipping him over so that he was on his stomach. John pulled himself into a kneeling position on the couch and yanked Sam's ass towards him.

"Dad-" Sam said, feeling like he was in unfamiliar territory. Usually John would fuck him once or twice but once he had passed out they were done, Sam was free for the rest of the night. That clearly wasn't the case this time. It made Sam afraid; if this part of the routine was changing, what else would?

Before Sam could say anything else, John was shoving back into him. His thrusts were less harsh than they were earlier, less hurried. And the sounds coming out of his mouth weren't the desperate grunts that he usually made, but long moans. And words were spilling out of his mouth; not the degrading insults that John frequently used, but praises about how _good_ Sam was. Sam really didn't know what to make of this change.

This time was a lot longer than the one earlier, and it left Sam gasping for air; with every deep thrust, Sam's face was shoved into the thick couch cushions, cutting off his air momentarily before John pulled back, and then this would repeat itself. Eventually, John spilled his seed and sighed in contentment, before finally pulling out. John stood on shaky legs and stumbled towards the bedroom. Sam heard the mattress springs squeak as John collapsed on top of it.

As soon as John was gone, Sam scrambled away from the couch, falling to the floor as he gasped for air. Cum was leaking out of his ass and onto the floor, and bruises were already forming on his hips from where John had gripped too tightlySam was used to getting those. Hickies were probably already forming on his neck as well.

It took him longer than he would've liked, but he got his hands untangled from his shirt and removed his ankles from where they were twisted in his jeans. Then he sat.

After a moment, Sam pulled himself to his feet and almost-ran to the bathroom. He got there just in time to throw up in the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach. When he finished he filled a cup with water and downed it, then filled another and downed that one, too. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself, and looked at himself in the mirror above the sink.

His cheeks and eyes were red from crying, but other than that he looked pretty normal. When he lifted his chin, he saw that he had been right; dark, circular bruises were already starting to form on his neck, hickies left by his own father. Sam felt bile rising in him and took some more deep breaths. When the nausea passed, Sam stepped into the small shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go.

Sam felt a sense of calm settle over him suddenly. He grabbed the body wash and began to rub himself over with a loofa. He paid extra attention to his ass, trying to get rid of as much of the cum as he could. Soon enough though, the calm began to dissipate and panic began to set in. Sam scrubbed harshly at his skin, which was already bright red from the hot water, trying not to break down.

A sob escaped him and then they kept coming. His body shook with the force of them, so much so that he had to lean against the shower wall to keep himself upright. He sobbed and he sobbed until he was too tired to do it anymore. He sobbed until numbness set in and then he turned off the water and dried himself off, walking into the bedroom. He pulled on a pair of boxers, laid down on the bed, and went to sleep.

* * *

The morning was no different from any other morning; John was hung-over, which meant he was even more crabby than usual, but he didn't speak about the night before or try to start it again so Sam counted it as a win.

They got on the road as soon as they finished their fast food breakfast. The drive to Bobby's place wasn't that long, maybe six hours, and they didn't speak except for when John barked at Sam to stop tapping his fingers against the window because it was annoying.

When they pulled up to Singer Salvage Yard, Sam dashed out of the car and ran up the steps. He didn't bother knocking on the doorBobby was like a second father to himjust entered. He called out Dean's name and grinned in relief when his brother came around the corner and into view.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean greeted him, "how was the hunt? I see one of them got a nasty hit in," he added, pointing to the bruise on Sam's cheek. Sam twitched, thinking back to John punching him, but then shrugged it off.

Sam shrugged. "It went fine. There were four of them; I tracked them to a small house outside of town and then dad and I took care of them. Open and shut. How about you? It was a pack of 'wolves, right?"

Dean nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he caught sight of the hickies on Sam's neck. A grin broke out on his big brother's face, an excited glint in his eyes. He was once again stopped from saying something when the front door swung open and John walked in. Dean's back straightened automatically and the happy smile slid partially off of his face. "Hey, dad."

John nodded sharply. "Dean. Where Bobby?"

Dean's head jerked to the side. "He's in the library, researching something for Caleb. Hey, Sam, you're like a walking monster encyclopediawhy don't we see if you can give him some help."

Sam nodded and followed Dean out of the entry way and towards the living room.

"We're not staying long, boys," John warned as they walked away.

As it was, they ended up staying another three days. Sam became an invaluable resource to Bobby and began picking up the phone that hunters called for advice. Ninety-five percent of the time, Sam had an answer right away. In the other five percent, a short consultation with Bobby or a book of lore and he was able to tell the hunter what they had to do.

Dean kept trying to ask Sam about the hickies, but Sam just kept brushing it off, saying that some girl at the school had been very "friendly." Dean had accepted the explanation with no problem and moved on with his life, even though he grinned every time Sam itched the bruises on his neck.

John kept trying to get them to leave, but Bobby kept coming up with things he needed help with, and even John wasn't rude enough to tell the man to fuck off. Plus, right when John was about to get them to leave, people started dying in town that was clearly a creature killing.

It was the second night; Dean and Bobby had just left to interview some of the victims' families, and John and Sam stayed home to research (since it was something Sam didn't know) and answer the phones in case someone called. John was drinking, which filled Sam with an incredible amount of anxiety, but he figured nothing would happen at Bobby's place.

He figured wrong.

Sam went upstairs to grab a lore book from his room, something Bobby had lent him a while ago and he thought he might as well check. He was just pulling it out of his bag and straightening up when a large body pressed up behind him. Sam froze and then shuddered as two thick arms wrapped around his midsection, one hand slipping underneath his shirt.

"You've been avoiding me all night, Sam," John's deep voice vibrated through Sam's body and Sam shook his head wildly, trying to get his voice to work. "Yes, you have. We're supposed to be working together and you won't even look at me. Think you're too good for me, whore? I think I need to show you your place, Sammy. Show you who you belong to."

"No, dad, I-" Sam wasn't able to finish because John shoved him against the wall, his large body trapping him against it. Sam braced his hands against the wall, trying to push away, but John was so much stronger and so much bigger; Sam didn't stand a chance.

John stripped Sam down quickly. As soon as Sam was naked, John tossed Sam onto the bed. Sam scrambled backwards, but there was only so many places he could go. John grabbed onto him before he could get too far and flipped him over so he landed on his stomach. John wrenched Sam's hands together and tied them tightly with a thick piece of rope. He pulled Sam until the teenager's legs were hanging over the edge of the bed.

Sam heard John undoing his belt and pressed his face into the mattress, resigning himself to his fate like so many times before.

However, John didn't start fucking him. Instead, his leather belt came down hard against Sam's back. Sam yelled in surprise and then hissed at the lasting pain. The strikes didn't stop after that; John continued to whip the belt through the air. He varied where he hit; sometimes across his back, sometimes over his ass, sometimes over the soft skin of his thighs. A few times he even struck Sam's balls with the belt, which brought tears to Sam's eyes.

After what seemed like forever, the blows stopped coming. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, but his anxiety immediately came back when he heard John moving around the room. Sam rolled over onto his back so he could see what was happening, and turned around just in time for a fist to strike him right across the face, causing Sam's head to snap to the side.

"I didn't give you permission to turn around, boy," John growled. His giant hands reached out and lifted Sam up, throwing him into the center of the bed. Sam wasn't able to support himself since his wrists were expertly tied, so he simply flopped back against the bed.

From his new position, Sam could see what John had been grabbing. In one hand the older man held a long penis-gag, and in the other he held a group of leather straps. Sam tried once again to back away, protesting weakly, but John grabbed onto him and flipped him over onto his stomach again.

He yanked Sam's right leg out towards the bottom of the bed and used one of the leather straps to tie it there, then repeated the process on his other ankle. John undid the rope around Sam's wrists and brought one to the headboard, strapping it there, then did that to the other. He lifted Sam's head up and shoved the gag into his mouth and tightened the buckle around the back of his head as tightly as he could. Sam choked as the rubber penis hit the back of his throat and resisted the urge to gag.

Sam heard John undo his zipper, heard him moan; presumably stroking himself. A thick finger, thankfully slick (not enough to be lube; probably spit) pushed inside of him and moved around a bit. Too soon he added a second, scissoring, and then quickly added a third. He removed them almost immediately, and Sam felt John line himself up before the man slowly pushed in, moaning loudly the whole time.

John spoke the whole time he was thrusting, like he usually did. He insulted Sam over and over again, calling Sam a whore, calling him worthless, saying he was only good for taking his daddy's cock. It was nothing Sam hadn't heard before, so it didn't hurt as much as it used to, but it still got to him.

Apparently, the penis-gag was remote controlled, so anytime John wanted he could inflate the gag to make it bigger and push further into Sam's mouth, and then make it smaller. So while John was fucking him in the ass with his own dick, he was also fucking him in the mouth with a fake dick.

Sam didn't hear the bedroom door open. He did, however, hear the click of someone cocking a gun, and he felt John freeze completely.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Dean's voice was filled with fury, and Sam didn't need to see his brother to know what his face looked like. Horror and disgust and pure _rage._

"Dean. Wasn't expecting you back so soon," John's voice was perfectly calm, if a bit breathless, but Sam's heart was beating out of his chest. Sam couldn't decide what he was feeling; mortified, at being found like this; relieved, at being rescued; horrified, at Dean finding out...so many different things at war in his head. But mostly he was afraid of what Dean would think of him.

"Get the fuck off of my brother," Dean replied, his voice just as furious as before.

"Or what, Dean?" John started moving again, slow rolls of his hips, languidly thrusting in and out of Sam. "Are you gonna shoot me? See, you're a pretty good hunter, but you wouldn't dare shoot a human, even one fucking little Sammy into the mattress here."

Dean was silent. Sam didn't know why Dean was silent.

"So we're at a crossroads, son. You can shoot meyour father, a humanor you can get the fuck out and let me finish my goddamn business." Then he moaned, loud and showy, trying to prove a point to Dean. Sam heard the faint sound of Dean's finger twitching against the trigger of his gun.

"I'm going to give you one last chance to get off of him of your own free will, and then I'm going to drag you off of him and shoot you in the leg, and then I'll tie you to a chair and beat you bloody. After I'm done with that, I'll let Bobby have a go. Only _t_ _hen_  will I call the police and get your sorry, pedophile, rapist ass to prison."

John gave a particularly brutal thrust, and Sam whimpered around the gag. "Hang on just a sec, Dean, I'm close." There was laughter in John's voice, and then John was coming inside of Sam, a breathy sigh of pleasure escaping him. John suddenly made a sound of pain and jerked to the side, then pulled harshly out of Sam. Sam couldn't see what happened, but it sounded like a fight.

Soon enough a gun went off and John grunted in pain before there was a loud thud and John fell silent. The whole room fell silent with him, the only sound Dean's heavy breathing. Then there was a hand on his back and Sam flinched violently, before realizing that it wasn't big enough to be John's. _Dean._

"Hey, Sammy, it's just me. You're alright, Sam, I'm gonna get you out of this, alright? Just give me a second." Dean's hands went to the headboard and Sam saw him working on undoing the leather straps, feeling a small amount of relief when his hands were free. They'd been tied very tightly, so blood was rushing back into his fingers. The same happened when Dean undid his ankles.

Slowly, Sam turned over and sat up. He didn't look at Dean, refusing to meet his brothers eyes, and undid the buckle holding the gag in place. He coughed as he pulled it out and ignored Dean's curse. Sam got up and walked over to where John had thrown his clothes and slowly began pulling them on, stilling not looking at Dean.

"Sam-" Dean began, his voice hesitant and filled with pity.

"Don't," Sam said sharply, yanking his shirt over his head. "Just leave it, Dean."

 _"Just leave it?"_ Dean's voice was incredulous. "Are youare you _kidding me?_ Sam, our father just _raped_ you! A forty-four-year-old man just raped a fifteen-year-old boy! And you want me to _'just leave it'?"_

Sam sighed angrily. He felt tears welling up in his eyes and blinked furiously to keep them at bay. "It's fine, I can handle it. Leave it alone, Dean."

"You can..." Dean's voice trailed off. "Wait a minute; has thishas this happened _before?_ Sam, has dad done this to you before tonight?" Sam was silent, but Dean was smart; he put it together. "Holy _shit,_ Sam, why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't important."

When he spoke again, Dean sounded furious again. "What do you mean it wasn't important? How the fuck did you think that wasn't important?" Dean took a heavy step towards Sam and Sam flinched violently, which caused Dean to stop short. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Why didn't you tell me, Sam? I would've helped you, I would've-"

"I didn't need help, Dean. I was handling it. Now please move, I want to go take a shower."

* * *

When Sam came downstairs, it was to the sight of John tied to a chair in the living room. Dean was sitting in a chair in front of him, glaring at his father with murder in his eyes, and Bobby was pacing by his desk.

Three pairs of eyes snapped to look at Sam as he entered the room; Bobby and Dean with worry and pity, John with a mostly-blank expression, but his intense eyes bore into Sam curiously. There was a giant bruise across John's cheek and a large cut on his bottom lip, as well as a cut on his forehead.

Sam didn't look at Bobby and Dean past a short glance, staring at John the whole time as he walked in. Sam shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and took a deep breath, trying to swallow his anxiety. Sam seriously couldn't believe what he was about to do, but he had to do it.

"Untie him, Dean. Now."

Dean scoffed and Bobby looked at him incredulously. "Are you crazy, Sam? Why on Earth would I let your rapist go?"

"Because I'll leave if you don't. I will grab my stuff and I'll leave. I'll make myself a cover identity in some middle-of-nowhere town and make a new life for myself. And you will never see me again."

John was grinning now, and Dean looked hurt and thoroughly confused. "Why, Sam? Why are you defending him? Why would you let him go? Seriously, man, clue me in!"

Sam still hadn't fully looked at Dean, but now he did. He kept his expression blank, a cold mask of indifference because if he showed even the slightest hint of hate for what he was doing Dean wouldn't comply. Sam had to destroy how Dean looked at him to do what he had to do. Because he couldn't let Dean know why.

"It wasn't rape, Dean. I wanted it, I asked for it. Now let him go or you'll never see me again." Sam was very proud of the fact that he kept the shaking out of his voice.

"No, no, no, I ain't buyin' it," Dean said angrily, standing and taking a few steps towards Sam. "You forget that I know you, Sam. I've known you your whole life. I know how you view sex, that you wanted to have it with some pretty girl that you were in love with, not some past-forty hunter who reeks of alcohol. Not with your _father._ Now, I get that your pride won't let me help you, but I don't understand why you'd help him. What does he have over you?"

Sam's heart was pounding in his chest, his pulse thudding loudly in his ears. Dean was so far off the mark and yet so goddamn close. "Last chance, Dean. Let him go or I walk; you'll never see me again. I won't offer again."

Dean stared at Sam intensely. "You're fifteen, Sam. Please don't throw away your life for this piece of garbage." Sam stared back, waiting. Dean turned to Bobby. "We'll find him again. But we won't find Sam; he's always been better at hiding than any of us. But we can find John."

"Aw, hell," Bobby grumbled. "Fine, let him go. But I ain't happy 'bout this. And Sam, you better know that I don't believe your bullshit either."

Dean stepped forward and pulled out a pocket knife, cutting the ropes holding John to the chair.

John stood up, grinning, and rubbed his wrists. "Thanks, son." Dean growled in response but didn't do anything but glare. John turned and nodded his thanks to Bobby, then turned his attention to Sam. His grin got wider and he stepped towards his youngest son, crowding against him. Sam didn't resist, just let John run his hands over his chest and then tilt his head up. John pressed his mouth firmly against Sam's and kissed him slowly, licking into his mouth and moaning obscenely. Sam knew he was just doing all of this for show, and he let him.

After far too long, John pulled back, grinning like a loon. "I'll be seeing you, Sam. Bye boys," he called over his shoulder. Then he turned and walked out the front door. Before either Dean or Bobby could ask any questions, Sam walked back up the stairs and into his room, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Sam waited until two a.m., when he knew both Dean and Bobby would be asleep. He'd packed his bag earlier, making sure he had everything he needed, and now he went into the room John had been staying in and packed his bag as well. When he was sure he hadn't missed anything in either room, Sam snuck downstairs and out the front door into the night.

The impala was gone, as was expected, so Sam hotwired one of the beat up cars hanging out in Bobby's yard. He knew where to go; John was a predictable man when it came to the way he used Sam, so Sam knew he would go to Samson's Motel in Hurleyville, New York; the motel where John had fucked Sam for the first time. It would be poetic, in John's mind.

It was an almost twenty hour drive from Sioux Falls, and Sam didn't even have his permit, so he had to drive carefully. He drove constantly, stopping very rarely and only to get coffee or some food-to-go, or to go to the bathroom when it was an emergency. There was a very small amount of traffic for some reasonthank godso Sam managed to make it to Hurleyville in just over seventeen hours.

When he got to the motel, the calm he'd felt during the drive went away completely and anxiety filled him. He knew the room number (how could he ever forget it? He'd been twelve, not stupid) so he walked towards the door on shaky legs. There was a small chance he was wrong, that John wouldn't be waiting for him, but John was obsessed and wouldn't be content to just let Sam go. He was in there.

Sam knocked, his hand shaking. He didn't have to wait long; the door swung open, revealing John Winchester. "Hey, boy. Glad you could make it." John grabbed onto Sam and dragged him inside. He took the bags from Sam and tossed them onto the floor by the TV, and Sam shuddered as he took in the familiar appearance of the motel room where twelve-year-old him had lost his innocence.

His look into the past didn't last long, because John was already stripping him down. His gaze was clear and his movements were sure, but his breath reeked of beer and hard liquor.

Soon enough Sam was naked again and being pushed against the wall. John didn't bother prepping him or tying him up or any of the other things he usually attempted, simply shoving down his pants and thrusting inside. Sam cried silently the whole time; being back in this room reminded him of the time _before_ this part of his life, of the time when his father was just his father and he told his brother everything.

When John was done he pulled out and Sam fell to the floor, landing on his knees and curling in on himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw John chug a few large gulp-fulls of amber liquid from a large bottle, which was already almost completely empty.

"I got really lucky before you got here," John said, his voice slurring ever-so-slightly. "I ran into a few hunters in town; they'd just taken down some creature that produced a chemical that basically makes people really horny," John chuckled giddily. "They'd managed to bottle some before they took her out, and they sold me some of it. It was expensive but totally worth it."

John turned hungry eyes onto Sam's shaking form. "I've always wanted to know what it would be like with you enjoying yourself, with you moaning under me and begging for more, with you riding me like your life depended on it..." He grinned. "Now I get to find out."

Sam tried to back away as John got closer, fear building inside of him. No, he didn't want to be made to want this. He didn't want some magical chemical to make him want his father in that way. And who knows what John would do? With Sam willing, John could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

But, like every other time, John was bigger and stronger, and he held Sam down as he produced a small corked vial, a golden-yellow smoke moving around inside. John pushed the top against Sam's lips, which he had pressed tightly together. With an impatient sigh John pinched Sam's nose closed and waited until Sam opened his mouth to gasp for air, effectively breathing in the smoke.

Sam's mind instantly clouded over, his thoughts becoming hazy and out of focus. He suddenly couldn't remember where he was, but it didn't really matter anymore; not when pleasant goosebumps were covering his arms and the soft carpet was tickling his balls in the most amazing way and heat was pooling in him and spreading out to his whole body. Sam wanted so much more.

Sam moaned and jerked his hips, humping the air in search of friction. Not finding any, he rolled over and began humping the floor. He moaned again and his dick began to harden, the tip already beginning to leak. Large hands started to kneed his ass and his moan got louder because it felt so goddamn good, and then three fingers pushed inside of him in one go.

Sam pushed his ass backwards, fucking himself on the fingers and moaning obscenely. Another hand was roaming all over his body, pinching his nipples and fondling his balls and brushing his penis. It all felt so amazing; he'd never felt anything like this before. Everything was so heightened, so wonderful...

The fingers pulled out of his ass and he keened in protest, his ass moving farther in the air to try and chase them. Someone chuckled and said something about him as he began to hump the floor again, and then another voice replied. Sam didn't know when another person had entered the room, but he didn't care.

"Please," Sam whimpered, "please, please, _please."_

Another laugh. "What do you need, Sammy? Need me to fuck you like the whore you are? My good little whore, all strung out for me and my friends." The large hands from before pulled him flush against an even larger body, completely naked. A rock hard dick pressed against his ass and Sam grinded down, causing the man to moan along with Sam. There was a chorus of laughs and Sam became suddenly aware that there was a group of people in the room and that made him feel even hotter.

The large hands lifted Sam up and when they pulled him back down it was onto the hard dick. "Ride me, kiddo. _Like your life depends on it."_

So Sam began to move. He bounced up and down, grinding downwards and then pushing himself up, over and over again. Pleasure flowed over him and he threw his head back. It landed on the man's shoulder and Sam continued to move. After a little while the man growled and pushed Sam forward. Sam pushed himself up onto his hands and knees as the man began thrusting into him with earnest.

Sam caught sight of another man moving in front of him, but didn't have more warning than that before the second man went to his knees and thrust his own penis into Sam's mouth. He hit the back of Sam's throat and thrust even further. Sam did his best to swallow without gaging and then moaned around the dick, which caused the man to moan above him.

From then on, everything was hazy. Sam lost track of how many times he was fucked that night, from both ends. He knew that once he had four dicks inside of him at once, two in his mouth and two in his ass, which he never thought possible before. He hurt all over; his neck from where one of the men had wrapped his hand around it and squeezed through his pleasure; his ass from being stretched way too far; his throat from being abused over and over again; his back from the belt whipping they'd given him and he'd thanked them for.

Right now he was lying on the motel room floor, covered in eight different men's cum and his own blood. He was shaking, nausea churning his stomach. He was having hot and cold flashes, his body rebelling against him and going through withdrawal from the smoke he'd been forced to inhale. He threw up, and since he was unable to move, he sat there in his own filth.

Sam didn't know where John or the other hunters had gone, and he didn't care. He was in so much pain, he was strung out, he was physically and emotionally abused, and he just wanted his brother. But Dean would never understand. Sam deserved this; he deserved this because of what John had told him the first time it happened. He deserved this because some demon had gotten his claws into him, and now he was dirty, filthy, not even human. He deserved it, no matter how little he wanted it.

The motel door swung open, but Sam couldn't bring himself to be afraid. He was just so tired, and in pain, and he didn't have the energy to fight or waste time on fear. This was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not, so why complain anymore?

"God, Sammy, why did you come here?" The voice was Dean's, which didn't make any sense, but Sam didn't bother to raise his head.

The door shut and Sam flinched at the loud noise, his head already pounding heavily. Dean kneeled next to him and then picked him up, carrying him to the bathroom. Sam was limp in his arms as he placed him in the tub and then started the water, making it warm but not too hot. He took a wet washcloth and began to clean Sam up, washing the blood off of his ass and the cum from all over and the throw up from his face.

"Why would you let him do this to you, Sam? You had an out; why didn't you let me and Bobby help you?" Dean's voice was pleading, but Sam didn't have the energy in him to feel the guilt that would usually encompass him if he made Dean feel like that. All Sam felt was a bone-deep tiredness. And no, Sam couldn't tell Dean why. Because if Dean knew why then he would leave. He might even kill him.

When Sam didn't respond, Dean sighed and started draining the tub. He picked Sam up again, lifting him out of the tub and back into the main room. Dean left for a second and came back with a towel, patting Sam down with it and trying to be careful of Sam's injuries. Sam didn't react more than a small wince.

Dean pulled back the covers of the bed and tucked Sam in, then sat beside him. His presence was comforting, and it became even more so when Dean began to sing Hey Jude by The Beatles. Most of the tension melted out of Sam and he was lulled to sleep by the sound of his brother's voice and the weight of his brother by his side.

* * *

Sam woke up to yelling. He recognized both of the voices, and the fact that they were both in the same room scared him to death; John and Dean.

"...your fucking son! How long, dad? How long have you been sexually abusing your son? My _brother,_ you monster!" There was the sound of a fist hitting skin and John grunted.

"Dean, you need to calm the fuck down. Sam's more of a monster than I will ever be. He's lucky I didn't put him down!" Another fist hitting skin, another grunt. "Boy, you better stop now. Do you even know? Do you even know what sweet little Sammy _is?_ No, you don't, because you would be right there with me if you knew."

Another fist. Another grunt.

"What the fuck do you even mean? Sam is my brother! I've known him my whole life; he's a fucking puppy dog, not some creature! He's _fifteen,_ for Christ's sake!" Another fist. Another grunt. "You've lost your goddamn mind if you think for one second-"

"Dean. Stop."

Sam's voice brought Dean up short. His fist was raised in the air, poised to deliver another blow to his father who was bound to a chair in front of him, and his head whipped around to see Sam on the bed, now sitting up and looking at him intently.

"Sam, I swear to god I am not stopping. You're not going anywhere, he's not going anywhere, and I'm going to fucking beat the _shit_ out of him before I call the police! Now you sit there and watch or go into the bathroom and wait it out. Hell, I'll even let you throw a few punches but for some messed up reason I know you won't."

The younger Winchester took a deep breath and stood up, walking closer to his father and brother. John's eyes roamed hungrily over his body but Dean's eyes stayed firmly locked with Sam's.

"He wasn't lying, Dean. I'm just as bad as the monsters we hunt." He looked away, feeling his heart break because he was about to lose Dean forever. "The night mom died, in the house fire, the demon was there for me. Mom died because she got in the way. I have demon blood in me, Dean. I'm part demon. I'm...I'm _disgusting_ and dad is just being dad. He's doing what he always does. I wish it didn't have to happengod, I really wish it didn'tbut it does."

When Sam risked looking back at Dean, Dean was staring at him. Not with disgust or anger or hate or fear; a look that was purely incredulous. A look frozen in disbelief.

"Wow," Dean said. "He's seriously messed with your head, hasn't he? I don't care if that's true or not, but even if it were: would we _rape_ children, even if they were werewolves or vampires or jinn? Would you? I don't think you would in a million yearsbecause it's _wrong._ So why would it be ok to rape you, when you haven't killed a single innocent person while the creatures we hunt have? Why would they be safe from this kind of treatment but not you?"

Sam looked away, unable to meet Dean's gaze. "I-" but he couldn't come up with an argument to beat that. John had been doing this to him since he was twelve; didn't he deserve this? Or had John really just taken advantage of a little kid who didn't know what any of it meant?

"Where's Bobby?" Sam said instead.

"He's out getting coffee; left right before this douche-wad showed up. He should be back soon. Now Sam, I want you to grab my cellphone off of the table and call 911. I want you to do it now." Sam didn't move. "Please, Sam. You don't have to live like this. It's wrong and you know it; he's screwed you up so much you can't see it, but everyone else can. Just let me help you."

After a moment's hesitation, Sam picked up the phone.


End file.
